by V. E. Schwab
The king stood behind her, waiting. “Are you ready?”
Her fingers tightened on the blade as fear hummed through her. Fear, and power. She had survived the marking, the blood fever, even that collar. She would survive this.
“Kosa,” she said, the answer barely a whisper. Yes.
“Good.”
They were standing in the castle courtyard, the gates closed and only the statues of the fallen twins bearing witness as the king’s gaze warmed her spine and the winter wind bit at her face. Life was returning to the city, coloring it like a bruise, but the cold had lingered at the edges. Especially at night. The sun was warm, and things grew beneath it, but when it sank, it took all the heat with it. The king said that this was normal, that a healthy world had seasons of warmth and light, and others of shadow.
Ojka was ready for heat.
That was the first thing she had felt, back when the blood fever came. Glorious heat. She’d seen the burnt-up shells of her failed predecessors, but she’d welcomed the fire.
She’d believed, then, in Holland’s power. In her potential.
She’d still believed, even when the king’s collar had closed around her throat.
And now, he was asking her to believe again. Believe in his magic. In the magic he had given her. She had done the blood spells. Summoned ice and fire. Mended some things and broken others. Drawn doors within her world. This would be no different. It was still within her reach.
She stared down at the knife, hilt against one palm, edge pressed to the other. She had her orders. And yet she hesitated.
“My king,” she said, still facing the courtyard wall. “It is not cowardice that makes me ask, but …”
“I know your mind, Ojka,” said Holland. “You wonder why I ask this errand of you. Why I do not go myself. The truth is, I cannot.”
“There is nothing you cannot do.”
“All things come at a cost,” he said. “To restore this world—our world—I had to sacrifice something of myself. If I left now, I am not certain I would be able to return.”
So that was where the power came from. A spell. A deal. She had heard the king speaking to himself as if to someone else, had seen what lurked in the shadow of his eye, even thought she’d seen his reflection move when he did not.
How much had Holland sacrificed already?
“Besides …” She felt his hands come to rest on her shoulders, heat and magic flaring through her with his touch. “I gave you power so you could use it.”
“Yes, my king,” she whispered.
Her right eye pulsed as he folded his broad frame around her narrower one, shaping his body to hers. His arms shadowed her own, tracing from shoulders to elbows to wrists, his hands coming to rest against hers. “You will be fine, Ojka, so long as you are strong enough.”
And if I am not?
She didn’t think she’d said the words aloud, but the king heard her either way.
“Then you will be lost, and so will I.” The words were cold, but not the way he said them. His voice was as it always was, a stone worn smooth, with a weight that made her knees weaken. He brought his lips to her ear. “But I believe in you.” With that, he guided her knife hand with his own, dragging the blade against her skin. Blood welled, dark as ink, and he pressed something against her bloody palm. A coin, as red as her hair, with a gold star in the center.
“You know what I ask of you,” he said, guiding her wounded hand and the coin within to the cold stone wall. “You know what you must do.”
“I will not let you down, my king.”
“I hope not,” said Holland, withdrawing from her, taking the heat with him.
Ojka swallowed and focused on the place where her searing palm met the cold stones as she said the command, just as he’d taught her. “As Travars.”
Her marked eye sang in her skull, her blood shuddering with the words. Where her hand met stone, shadow blossomed out into a door. She meant to step forward, step through, but she never had the chance.
The darkness ripped her forward. The world tore. And so did she.
A rending in her muscles. A breaking in her bones.
Her skin burned and her blood froze and everything was pain.
It lasted forever and an instant, and then there was nothing.
Ojka crumpled to her knees, shuddering with the knowledge that somehow she had failed. She wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t worthy. And now she was gone, ripped away from her world, her purpose, her king. This calm, this settling feeling, this must be death.
And yet.
Death was not supposed to have edges, and this did. She could feel them, even with her eyes closed. Could feel where her body ended, and the world began. Could death be a world unto itself? Did it have music?
Ojka’s eyes drifted open, and she drew in a breath when she saw the cobbled street beneath her, the night sky tinged with red. Her veins burned darkly across her skin. Her eye pulsed with power. The crimson coin still dug into her palm, and her knife glinted on the stones a few feet away.
And the understanding hit her in a wave.
She’d done it.
A sound escaped her throat, something tangled up in shock and triumph as she staggered to her feet. Everything hurt, but Ojka relished the pain. It meant she was alive, she had survived. She had been tried, tested, and found able.
My king? she thought, reaching through the darkness of space and the walls between worlds. Worlds that she had crossed.
For a long moment, there was no answer. Then, incredibly, she heard his voice, paired with the thrumming of her pulse in her head.
My messenger.
It was the most beautiful sound. A thread of light in the darkness.
I am here, she thought, wondering where exactly here was. Holland had told her about this world. That red glow, that must be the river. And that beacon of light, the palace. She could hear the sounds of people, feel their energy as she readjusted her pale cloak and shifted her red hair in front of her marked eye. What now?
There was another pause, and when the king’s voice came again, it was smooth and even.
Find him.
I
RED LONDON
The city glittered from the palace steps, a stretch of frost and fog and magic.
Lila took it in, and then turned and presented Elsor’s invitation. The stairs were filled with foreigners and nobles, and the guards didn’t bother to look at the name on the slip, simply saw the royal seal and ushered her inside.
It had been four months since she’d last set foot in the heart of the royal palace.
She had seen the Rose Hall, of course, before the tournament, but that had been separate, impersonal. The palace itself felt like a grand house. A royal home. The entry hall was once again lined with heaping flower bouquets, but they had been arranged into a path, ushering Lila left through the foyer and past another set of large doors that must have been shut before, but were now thrown open, like wings. She stepped through into a massive ballroom of polished wood and cut glass, a honeycomb of light.
They called this one the Grand Hall.
Lila had been in another ballroom, the night of the Masquerade—the Gold Hall—and it was impressive, with its stonework and metal. This had all of the splendor, the opulence, and then something more. Dozens of chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling several stories up and lit the space with refracted candlelight. Columns rose from the oak floor, adorned with spiral staircases that broke off onto walkways and led to galleries and alcoves set into the walls overhead.
In the center of the ballroom, raised on a dais, a quartet of musicians played. Their instruments varied, but they were all made from polished wood and strung with golden wire, and the players themselves were brushed with gold. They stood perfectly still, save for only the most necessary movements of their fingers.
What had Jinnar said about Prince Rhy? A flair for drama.
Lila scanned the cavernous ballroom, and caught sight of the prince moving be
tween tables on the opposite side of the hall. There, by the balcony doors, she saw Alucard, bowing to a lovely Faroan in purple silk. Flirt.
She skirted the room, wondering how long it would take her to spot Kell in such a crowd. But within moments, she saw him, not on the dance floor or mingling among the tables, but overhead. He stood alone on one of the lower balconies, his lanky form draped over the rail. His tousled auburn hair glinted beneath the chandeliers, and he rolled a glass between his palms, seeming troubled. From this angle, she couldn’t see his eyes, but she imagined she could see the crease between them.
He looked as though he were looking for someone.
And Lila had a feeling that someone was her.
She retreated into the safety of the column’s shadow, and for a few moments, she watched Kell watch the crowd. But she hadn’t put on a dress for the sake of wearing it, so she finally finished her drink, set the empty glass on the nearest table, and stepped out into the light.
As she did, a girl appeared at Kell’s side. The princess from Vesk. Her hand touched Kell’s shoulder, and Lila frowned. Was she even old enough to flirt like that? Christ, she looked like a child. Slim but round-faced, pretty but dimpled—soft—with a wreath of wood and silver atop her straw-blond braid.
Kell gave the princess a look, but he didn’t recoil from the touch, and she must have taken his stillness as an invitation, because she slipped her arm through his, and rested her head against his shoulder. Lila found her fingers itching for a knife, but then to her surprise, Kell’s gaze drifted past the girl, down to the ballroom, and landed on her.
Kell tensed visibly.
So did Lila.
She watched as he said something to the princess and drew his arm free. The girl looked put out, but he didn’t give her a second glance—didn’t take his gaze from Lila—as he descended the stairs and came toward her, eyes dark, fists clenched at his side.
He opened his mouth, and Lila braced herself for an attack. But instead of yelling, Kell exhaled, held out his hand, and said, “Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was barely a request.
“I don’t know how to dance,” she said.
“I do,” he said simply, as if the act didn’t require two. But he was standing there, waiting, and eyes were beginning to turn their way, so she took his hand, and let him lead her out onto the shadowed edge of the ballroom floor. When the music kicked up, Kell’s fingers tightened around hers, his other hand found her waist, and they began to move; well, Kell began to move, and Lila moved with him, forcing herself to follow his lead, to trust in it.
She hadn’t been this close to him in months. Her skin hummed where he touched her. Was that normal? If magic coursed through everyone and everything, was this what it felt like when it found itself again?
They danced in silence for several long moments, spinning together and apart, a slower version of their cadence in the ring. And then, out of nowhere, Lila asked, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you ask me to dance?”
He almost smiled. A ghost. A trick of the light. “So you couldn’t run away again before I said hello.”
“Hello,” said Lila.
“Hello,” said Kell. “Where have you been?”
Lila smirked. “Why, did you miss me?”
Kell opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again before finally managing to answer, “Yes.”
The word was low, and the sincerity caught her off guard. A blow beneath her ribs. “What,” she fumbled, “the life of a royal no longer to your tastes?” But the truth was, she’d missed him, too. Missed his stubbornness and his moods and his constant frown. Missed his eyes, one crisp blue, the other glossy black.
“You look …” he started, then trailed off.
“Ridiculous?”
“Incredible.”
Lila frowned. “You don’t,” she said, seeing the shadows under his eyes, the sadness in them. “What’s wrong, Kell?”
He tensed slightly, but he didn’t let go. He took a breath, as if formulating a lie, but when he exhaled, the truth came out. “Ever since that night, I haven’t felt … I thought competing would help, but it only made it worse. I feel like I’m suffocating. I know you think it’s madness, that I have everything I need, but I watched a king wither and die inside a castle.” He looked down, as if he could see the problem through his shirt. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“Life,” she said, as they spun around the floor. “And death.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone thinks I have a death wish, you know? But I don’t want to die—dying is easy. No, I want to live, but getting close to death is the only way to feel alive. And once you do, it makes you realize that everything you were doing before wasn’t actually living. It was just making do. Call me crazy, but I think we do the best living when the stakes are high.”
“You’re crazy,” said Kell.
She laughed softly. “Who knows? Maybe the world’s gone crooked. Maybe you’re still possessed. Or maybe you just got a taste of what it really means to be alive. Take it from someone who’s had her fair share of close calls. You almost died, Kell. So now you know what it feels like to live. To fear for that life. To fight for it. And once you know, well, there’s no going back.”
His voice was unsteady. “What do I do?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask,” she said. “I just run away.”
“Running sounds good.”
“Then run,” she said. He stifled a laugh, but she was serious. “The thing about freedom, Kell? It doesn’t come naturally. Almost no one has it handed to them. I’m free because I fought for it. You’re supposed to be the most powerful magician in all the worlds. If you don’t want to be here, then go.”
The music picked up, and they came together, drew apart.
“I made Rhy a promise,” said Kell as they turned, carried along by the dance. “That I would stand at his side when he was king.”
She shrugged. “Last time I checked, he’s not on the throne yet. Look, I stay here because I have nothing to go back to. There’s no reason that once you leave, you can’t return. Maybe you simply need to stretch your legs. Live a little. See the world. Then you can come back and settle down, and you and Rhy can live happily ever after.”
He snorted.
“But, Kell …” she said, sobering, “… don’t do what I did.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
She thought of Barron, the silver watch in the bottom of her coat. “If you decide to leave—when you decide to leave—don’t do it without saying good-bye.”
The music struck its final notes, and Kell spun Lila into his arms. Their bodies tangled, and both held their breath. The last time they’d embraced, they were bruised and bloody and about to be arrested. That had felt real; this felt like a fantasy.
Over Kell’s shoulder, Lila saw the Princess of Vesk at the edge of the room, surrounded by gentlemen, and staring daggers at her. Lila flashed a smile and let Kell lead her off the floor, between a pair of columns.
“So, Kamerov?” she said as they found a quiet place to talk.
His grip tightened on her. “No one knows. They can’t.”
She shot him a withering look. “Do I really strike you as the telling type?” she asked. Kell said nothing, only examined her with that strange two-toned gaze, as if he expected her to disappear. “So …” she said, plucking a glass of sparkling wine from a passing tray, “did you kill the real Kamerov?”
“What? Of course not. He’s a fiction.” His brow furrowed. “Did you kill the real Elsor?”
Lila shook her head. “He’s on a boat headed for Denolar. Or was it Delo—”
“Delonar?” snapped Kell, shaking his head. “Saints, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “I don’t understand what I am, how I’m alive, what I can do. I guess I just wanted to see.”
“
You didn’t have to enter the most visible tournament in the three empires to test your fledgling abilities.”
“But it’s been fun.”
“Lila,” he said softly, and for once, his voice didn’t sound angry. Tense, yes, but not mad. Had he ever said her name like that? It sounded almost like longing.
“Yes?” she asked, her breath tight.
“You have to withdraw.”
And just like that, the warmth between them shattered, replaced by the Kell she remembered, stubborn and righteous.
“No, I don’t,” she said.
“You can’t possibly continue.”
“I’ve made it this far. I’m not dropping out.”
“Lila—”
“What are you going to do, Kell? Have me arrested?”
“I should.”
“But I’m not Stasion Elsor,” she said, gesturing down to the ball gown. “I’m Delilah Bard.” Truth really was the best disguise. His frown deepened. “Come on, don’t be a sore loser.”
“I threw the match,” he snapped. “And even if I hadn’t, you can’t move on.”
“I can, and I will.”
“It’s too dangerous. If you defeat Rul, you’ll be in the final three. You’ll be unmasked. This ruse of yours might work from a distance, but do you honestly think no one will notice who you are—and who you’re not—if you show your face? Besides, I saw you in the ring today—”
“When I won?”
“When you faltered.”
“I’ve made it this far.”
“I felt your power slip. I saw the pain written on your face.”
“That had nothing to do with our match—”
“What happens if you lose control?”
“I won’t.”
“Do you remember the cardinal rule of magic?” he pressed. “Power in Balance, Balance in Power.” He lifted her hand, frowning at the veins on the back. They were darker than they should have been. “I don’t think you’re balancing. You’re taking and using, and it’s going to catch up with you.”
Lila stiffened with annoyance. “Which is it, Kell? Are you angry at me, or worried about me, or happy to see me? Because I can’t keep up.”
